


I Despise

by doomcanary



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 17:56:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3819604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcanary/pseuds/doomcanary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only a quickie - but - oh man. I just saw the Rochefort scene from the beginning of 2x03. Oh MAN. Dumas's grave must be powering France. Beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Despise

"And _then_ he said-"

"Oh sweet mother Mary," gasps d'Artagnan, clutching his belly. "There's more?"

"Oh yes, there's more," smirks Aramis, fingering the lace at the neck of the gown he's wearing. It fits him remarkably well, considering. "Athos, if you would?"

Athos quirks an eyebrow at Porthos and D'Artagnan, and rises gracefully to cross to Aramis.

"Down on your knees," says Aramis amiably. Porthos perks up a little.

"And  _then_ he said," continues Aramis, and bends to whisper something into Athos's ear. D'Artagnan sees Athos's mouth twitch just slightly.

"Your Majesty," drawls Athos, gloved forefingers tracing the edges of the open-fronted skirt, "perhaps next time... you might permit me to wear your dress?"

Porthos howls with laughter and pounds the narrow bed. A split second later D'Artagnan nearly swallows his own tongue; he grabs Porthos's arm hard enough to leave bruises. Aramis has chosen that moment to whisk away the fine silk scarf that had been masquerading as an underskirt, baring his slender, hard cock. Porthos also falls abruptly silent. Beneath the crossed lacing that barely conceals his smooth, flat belly, Aramis's body is as smooth as marble. Athos, with a soldier's pragmatism, licks his lips and swallows the dark head of it cleanly. Aramis's eyes roll back and he makes a guttural sound.

"He's too damn good at learning from whores," mutters Porthos, hand sliding up D'Artagnan's inner thigh.

"He's too damn good at wearing dresses," D'Artagnan agrees.

"You're both too damn good at talking," says Athos, suddenly looming above them. "Now get over here and hold Her Majesty down."


End file.
